


from the ashes we will rise

by shairiru



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Heian Period, Historical References, M/M, Reincarnation, Samurai, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shairiru/pseuds/shairiru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are fated, but not of the romantic kind.</p><p>For MidoaAka Month.<br/>Chapter 1 -  Red Thread<br/>Chapter 2 - Samurai<br/>Epilogue - The Place We Belong</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tang Dynasty, China: _Around 800 AD._  


-

Jun Liwei has never known the winter to be so warm—not with the heat of the battle rushing through his veins, and not with the blood of his enemy gushing from his chest where he has pierced through with this sword. Dai Jian stares at him with wide eyes, as green as the hills in spring now slowly withering away, his hand clutching the blade that has ended his life.

“It is our fate indeed.” His lips turn up to the side in an attempt to smile, but instead he coughs and out comes blood, adding a red streak on the already stained snowy ground. “Inevitable.”

“You know about it, too.” It is his turn to be surprised. Liwei has known about the cosmic thread that binds him with the Dai heir, one that goes back for centuries beyond the ongoing enmity between the Jun and Dai clans. It is a secret he found out from the High Priest back when he was still being trained for war. He didn’t know Dai Jian is aware of it as well.

“A fate where one’s life ends in the hands of the other. Always.”

Jian falls on his back, the blade still sticking out from his chest. Liwei kneels next to him and drives the blade deeper. The war rages on around them but they are all a blurred noise in his head. They still haven’t won, but they will. Soon. Now that the Dai heir is about to lose his life, what follows would be retreat.

“The next time we meet would be in the next life.” Liwei thinks of his words as an elegy. It’s ironic, however, for there would be no love lost between him and his destined enemy. “May you have a safe journey in the underworld and find your way to be reborn as my enemy once more.”

Dai Jian closes and his eyes and laughs, his breath forming a small puff of cloud. When he speaks, it is almost inaudible. “Jun Liwei, in the next life, I will definitely—”

And then, the warmth is gone.

Jun Liwei offers a silent prayer to the gods before standing up and returning to the battlefield, off to claim the victory that has been beyond doubt his.

-

Heian Period, Japan: _About three hundred years after._

-

Scrolls are scattered everywhere as attendants served Seijuurou, dressing him up with the most luxurious fabrics and most intricate ornaments for the feast. Shintarou picks the scrolls up and scans them one by one, his frown getting deeper with each one that he reads. Seijuurou sees his expression and lets out a small laugh.

“You don’t look too happy about the choices, Shintarou.”

His closest friend and advisor merely huffs and continued on reading the scrolls. The attendants have just finished dressing him up and so Seijuurou orders them to leave. He locks the door after them. After making sure no one is around anymore, he turns around.

“What is it that you want to say?”

“These choices for your wife are merely for show,” Shintarou tells him. Without the presence of the attendants, he has the freedom to say whatever he wants that might be deemed wrong or rebellious by others. “We both know the Emperor will choose the youngest Fujiwara daughter to marry you, just as the Emperor before him did.”

“It’s not like I can avoid it. I wouldn’t want to risk a feud with the Fujiwara clan. After all, they’re already displeased that I replaced Fujiwara no Takaki with you as my advisor. And you will still be in that position when I ascend the throne. Agreeing with the marriage is some sort of a peace offering for them.”

He gets the scrolls from Shintarou’s hands and places them back on the table. It is a thing they both agree on, about how they are not satisfied that the Fujiwara clan actually has the power and not the Imperial House. It is also, however, not a popular opinion and something they can only talk about in the privacy of Seijuurou’s room.

“An adopted child of the Imperial Family replacing a Fujiwara as the sesshou.” Shintarou laughs bitterly. “When I become the kampaku, it’d be a surprise if I remained alive within a month in the position.”

“Nonsense.” Seijuurou laughs and offers his hand to him. “Come, the feast will begin soon.”

Shintarou takes his hand and lets himself to be pulled up. He hasn’t really fancied the extravagant occasions and would rather spend his time reading scrolls on philosophy and music, but as a part of the Imperial Family, he has to show face.

The lively court music greets them as they entered the Grand Hall. Shintarou stays a step behind Seijuurou just as he always do. Several guests immediately make their way to greet Seijuurou, and Shintarou is forgotten for a moment. He’s surprised Seijuurou has the endurance to keep that bright and poised smile on his face as he talks to each one of the guests. It’s probably natural, him having the imperial blood and all. Shintarou is just adopted, and unfortunately, hasn’t adapted to the mannerisms of the court. He always felt like he belonged somewhere else.

“Shintarou.”

Seijuurou’s voice pulls him out from his reverie and he sees him smiling at him, his red eyes as warm and welcoming as a fire pit in winter. It is in those very eyes that Shintarou finds his reason to stay. He can’t explain it himself — and even Seijuurou feels the same way — but it’s as if they’re fated in some sort of way to encounter each other in this life. With Seijuurou, he finds no reason to be anywhere else.

“Just thinking.”

“I know.” Seijuurou laughs quietly. “And I also know you’re uncomfortable with all these. Let’s go to our seats.”

“Gladly, Your Highness.” Shintarou smiles and bows slightly. “Lead the way.”

The small crowd parts for Seijuurou, and upon seeing him, they also find their respective spots. The ceremony proper is about to start soon. Seijuurou and Shintarou sits to the right of the Emperor, and directly in front of them is the Fujiwara clan. Seijuurou offers a polite smile but the two don’t miss the hostile glance they throw at Shintarou.

“I’m telling you, within a month.” Shintarou whispers underneath his breath.

“If that happens I’ll make sure their entire clan pays, don’t worry.”

The Emperor calls for everyone’s attention. The feast finally begins.

-

After the feast has been concluded and most of the guests returned to their respective rooms or houses, Seijuurou and Shintarou are called for by the Emperor. Upon arriving, Seijuurou is surprised to see Fujiwara no Umikai - his father’s kampaku - together with the heads of the ministries, all Fujiwaras, too. There is a set of strangers wearing armors and carrying swords that Seijuurou rarely sees inside the courts — samurais. He exchanges a questioning look with Shintarou who looks as clueless as he is.

The two bow before the Emperor and show their respect.

“Father,” Seijuurou raises his head first, “What is it that Shintarou and I are needed for?”

“Umikai,” his father turns to his advisor, “Please explain the circumstance.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Fujiwara no Umikai bows slightly before turning to the two of them. “Young Prince, everyone in the Imperial Palace is aware of Shintarou’s origin. Or lack thereof.  He was brought here by the late Empress from her trip in the Northern regions saying that she has found the unfortunate child left in the streets alone. We’ve always been concerned for his welfare, about where he might have really come from, that not so long ago, we started to look for his family.”

“Who are ‘ _we_ ’?” Seijuurou asks despite already knowing the answer. The Fujiwaras did it there is no doubt, and no, it is not for Shintarou’s welfare.

“The ministers, and all who are concerned as well. It is by stroke of luck that we have made contact with the Midorima clan, situated just near the northern borders. Let’s have him clear the situation for us, shall we?”

The samurai standing at the center removes his head armor, exposing a familiar shade of green hair. His equally green eyes train on the two of them, especially at Shintarou. Shintarou, on his part, succeeds on not looking too shocked and keeps his usual composure.

“Greetings. I am Midorima Keito, the leader of the Midorima clan of the north.” The resemblance is uncanny, and even if Seijuurou wants to question the legitimacy of the origin of the Midorima clan, there is no doubt that the person before them is Shintarou’s father. “It was years ago when my then-wife ran away with our heir. She never liked the way of the samurai and how often we had to go to battle to fight the Ainu. With the help of her servants, she managed to run away with our newborn child. When we found out about it, we immediately went on a search. We did find the woman, but already dead. We suspect that it was the northern tribes who were responsible. However, the child is nowhere to be seen. We had thought that it’s either the Ainu took him, or he has already died as well.”

“Fortunately,” Umikai continues, a ghost of a triumphant smile growing on his face, “When we were looking for Shintarou’s possible family, our connections led us to the Midorima clan. It isn’t an easy task establishing contact, but once we did, we knew they were who we are looking for. Isn’t it great?”

“Shintarou?” The Emperor regards him. “What do you have to say in all of this?”

Shintarou looks at Seijuurou first before looking up at the Emperor. It is all too quick to take in, honestly, and he can’t find it in himself to speak out his thoughts. “I…I ask for a time to contemplate my situation, Your Highness.”

“I agree with Shintarou, Father.” Seijuurou backs him up. “This has all been shocking. Shintarou would need time to think.”

“What is there to think about?” Umikai turns to him. “Have the young people of this generation forgot about the value of filial piety?”

“Shintarou has had without his family for eighteen years!” Seijuurou raises his voice a bit. “It’s not a matter of filial piety, it’s about his identity.”

“Why are you arguing on this now?” The Emperor interrupts before Umikai is able to form another statement. “There is no doubt that this man before us is Shintarou’s family. Shintarou has been in the Imperial family for years, and truly, I have treated him like my own. But, it would be wrong for us to keep him still when his real family is now here.”

“I suggest that we give Shintarou the night to fully think things through and let the truth sink in, Your Majesty.” Umikai pitches in. “By tomorrow, if he is ready, he can go with the Midorima clan and be reunited with the rest of his family.”

“That sounds like a good plan. Shintarou?”

There isn’t any choice to begin with at all, and so with a heavy heart, Shintarou bows. “Thank you for your consideration, Your Majesty.”

-

“You can’t go.”

Seijuurou watches helplessly as Shintarou gathered his things. He sees the shelf of scrolls reduced to an empty space, the chest that is filled with his clothes becomes bare. It’s almost as if Shintarou slowly slipping away from him.

“They’re my family.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Shintarou stops momentarily, clutching a piece of robe in his hands. It is the robe Seijuurou has given him as a gift last year and he has only worn it once, afraid to ruin it. Now there won’t be more chance to wear it. The samurais do not wear extravagant robes and have no reason to do so.

“I have to.”

“You know you don’t belong there. We can talk to Father again, he will hear you out. We just have to make sure Umikai wouldn’t be there.”

“Seijuurou, just let it go.” He puts the robe inside the bag he’d be carrying and closes the chest. He looks around his room — it’s completely bare of anything that is him now. “I don’t belong here either, you know it.”

“You belong _here_.” Seijuurou points at the spot next to him. “Right beside me. You know it, don’t you? You are to be my advisor when I ascend the throne!”

Shintarou only looks at him with a sad smile. “The throne…you’d have to be careful once you’re already the Emperor. Too much power can change a person, no matter how noble they are. You have to put the people first in your heart. Well, you can only do that once you’ve removed the Fujiwara clan from their power. You have to prioritize that as well.   And your prospect wife—“

Seijuurou is in front of him in an instant, closing the distance in just a few steps. He pulls him down by the neck of his robe and their lips meet in a fervent and hasty kiss, desperate and hungry. Shintarou loses himself in the feeling of Seijuurou, and the realization of the fantasies he never thought would come true. They are no experts in this art, but they let their pent up feelings get past the awkwardness of first times. Shintarou responded as eagerly as Seijuurou, knowing all too well that this might be their last chance of being in this situation.

They pull apart, panting, catching their breaths. Gazing into each other’s eyes, both finally see the admiration they felt for a long time, but was kept a secret. Both see how they regret only doing this now.

“You were supposed to be always by my side,” Seijuurou whispers, still holding him close, too close. “We are fated, you and I. I know you feel it as well.”

“Then we will meet again.” Shintarou thumbs Seijuurou’s cheek softly and smiles. “And by then, you’d finally be the righteous Emperor this nation needs. Even without me, you’d be the ruler that will change this nation for good. No matter the circumstance, fate will find a way for us to be together again in this lifetime.”

-

By midmorning, Shintarou sets off with the rest of the Midorima clan that came to claim him. Seijuurou sees them off from the gates of the capital as they journeyed north, their promises the night before resonating in his mind. He watches until the expanse of Shintarou’s back disappears from the horizon. He prays to the gods for his safe journey.

Moreso, he wishes for their paths to cross once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _1 sesshou - regent assigned to a young prince before he comes of age_  
>  _2 kampaku - Imperial adviser_  
>  Happy MidoAka Day!!  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

The journey north takes them about a month, and by then, Shintarou already misses the warmth of the capital. They ride horses, something he has never tried before. Back in the palace, if Seijuurou is to go out, they ride ox-driven carts that are way too slow for his preference. His supposed father tries his best to ask about Shintarou and the life that he had in the eighteen years that he has been away. Shintarou also tries his best to be amiable. As far as he is concerned, the people with him are mere strangers. 

 

Or worse, he is _the_ stranger amongst them.

 

“There is no need to hurry,” his father tells him one night when they are making camp to rest, “I know you’re still adjusting to all this. You have the time.” He clasps him by his shoulder, a motion so fatherly that Shintarou fails to hide his surprise. “When we return to Iwate, you shall receive your sword and train with it, just as you should have done if you’ve grown as a samurai.”

 

“I have a sword?”

 

“It has been yours even before you were born.” He smiles proudly. “It’s the best of its kind, I must say. You shall give it a name.”

 

Shintarou hasn’t seen so many mountains and rivers until in that trip before finally arriving at Iwate. A wall welcomes him with a banner of the clan name mounted on its gates. Far before them looms a huge castle owned by the Minamoto family the Midorima has been serving for many years. He sees several samurais, the most he has encountered ever. Each carries a different sword. Shintarou cannot imagine himself in such position.

 

A small feast is prepared as a celebration for his return. People flocked to him introducing themselves as his aunt, uncle, cousin, second cousin, third cousin, his mother’s closest friend — the list goes on forever, honestly, and he can’t make himself keep up. It’s only when his father intervened, telling everyone that he has to rest from the long journey that they let go of him and return to their usual tasks.

 

His father leads him to their house located near the castle borders, one among the biggest in the town. His room has the view of the mountains at the east. A katana hangs by the wall, its blade glistening even in the dimness of the room. He walks towards it, drawn.

 

“Do you like it?” His father asks, standing beside him as he retrieves the sword by its handle and eyes the blade appreciatively. “Be careful of the point. It’s among the most quality kissaki a sword could have.”

 

“I’ve never held a sword like this before,” he answers with awe, “But I can tell that this is extraordinary.”

 

“A samurai’s sword is his spirit. Together with his sword, he must live every moment of his day without fear of death. In this way, he can truly live as a samurai.”

 

Shintarou listens to each word, committing them to heart.

 

“This is just a few of the things you should know. You shall learn more as you progress.” His father’s smile is replaced by a determined line of his lips, his eyes turning a steely glint. “Shintarou, have you fully accepted the truth of who you are?”

 

He grips the handle of his sword tighter, feeling a chill run down his spine.

 

He raises the sword before him until he sees his reflection. The green eyes staring back at him used to look so lost, but now it’s starting to look like it has found where it belongs. The time he spent at court feels like from a different life. 

 

Now he knows he’s always meant to be here.

 

“Yes.”

 

-

 

Seven winters pass. Shintarou has grown into a promising samurai his father has wanted him to be. His name has spread quickly throughout Tohoku, and even beyond the mountains. The Ainu fears battles where he is in the front lines. Even the powerful samurai clans knew of him. He is a real warrior —a hero in the making.

 

“You should find a wife soon, Shintarou,” his aunt reminds him for what seems to be the hundredth time since he reached the age of twenty. “A warrior’s life span isn’t long. It’d be good to have a successor this early.”

 

By now, Shintarou has learned not to flush at the mention of marriage. He willfully drinks his tea before replying.

 

“Marriage isn’t my priority now, Aunt. We still have to guard the borders and ensure the peace in this land. In this period of unrest, who has time for finding a wife?”

 

A quiet laughter erupts from the table.

 

“An intelligent man, indeed,” his father points at him, nodding in agreement. “I’ve taught you well.”

 

“Hah, if it isn’t for the capital's failures, we wouldn't have this problem,” his aunt huffs in displease, “Ever since the Emperor was replaced three years ago, everything has gone downhill.”

 

“It’s no surprise the Fujiwara clan is declining in power.”

 

“Of course. They’ve always been tied to the Imperial House, but now that it is going down, they fall with it.”

 

“There are talks about a resistance. Some clans want to take over.”

 

Shintarou listens to the succeeding discussions silently, keeping his mouth shut about his own opinions. It is Seijuurou they are talking about after all — _Emperor_ Seijuurou. He remembers the day he has found out about his ascension. He was so happy and hopeful that he performed exceedingly well at that day's sparring, defeating all his opponents in a few strokes. _At last, a better change is almost at reach,_ he had thought.

 

Not long into the throne and several problems occurred throughout the land. The border fights worsened, landlords started to gain more power, the samurais found themselves busier with all the battles that have to be won. He had always wanted to go to the capital to know what’s happening with Seijuurou and why has things gone awry under his rule, but he had to fulfill his duties first. He never had the chance to leave the region. And for years he has always wondered if he made a big mistake of leaving Seijuurou on his own.

 

-

 

“Shintarou.”

 

His father finds him that night sitting outside on his own. He takes the spot beside him, offering him tea which he declines.

 

“You can't sleep?”

 

“I just…have many thoughts in my mind right now. They keep me awake.”

 

“You’re thinking of the Emperor?”

 

He nods. “He is a close friend.”

 

“I can tell it is more, though. Don’t look so surprised.”

 

Shintarou finds no way to deny it. “How did you-“

 

“Taking a male lover is normal to us, you’ve learned of it before. Yet you continuously declined any advances that were made towards you. Everyone thought of you as peculiar because of this, did you know?” He laughs good-naturedly. “If not for a girl, then who could it be that is holding you back? I can only think of one person.”

 

“It was just one time.” Shintarou remembers the hasty kiss he had with Seijuurou the night before he left the capital for good. “Besides, that's not what worries me.”

 

“Then what is?”

 

“His failures.” Shintarou sighs. “I grew up with Seijuurou. He is a great leader, I've seen it. It isn't like him to lead a country like this.”

 

“You know how the Fujiwara clan works, son. The power is in their hands, the Imperial House is just surficial.”

 

“Sejuurou hated the Fujiwaras. He swore that he won’t let them influence him.”

 

His father only smiles sadly. “You just have to remember where your loyalty lies, Shintarou. It is with your lord, not the Imperial House. If the time comes that we must stand up to fight against them, we will have to.”

 

“I know.” He clutches his sword closer to him. 

 

“There is something else I wanted to tell you that's why I looked for you tonight.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“You remember how you were taken away by your mother from the clan? I still have yet to tell you the reason why, and I believe it is time for you may encounter it sooner or later.”

 

“She didn’t want me to be a samurai that’s why she ran away with me, does she?”

 

“There’s more to that, too, and I need you to listen well.” He pulls out a scroll from his robe and gives it to him. “Our family origins traces back to China, and it is only in the past two hundred years ago that we settled here in Iwate and became prominent. We were related to the Dai clan of the Tang Dynasty. That scroll you’re holding is a portrait of one of the greatest warrior of Dai in their time — Dai Jian.” Shintarou opens the scroll and an image of him stares back. “You look just like him, and we believe that you are his reincarnation.”

 

“What does this mean for me?”

 

“Dai Jian had a rival in his day, a warrior from their enemy clan - Jun Liwei. In one of Dai Jian's records that were retrieved, he mentioned of a fate that binds him with Jun Liwei, a fate where they both meet each other in their reincarnations only for one of them to be killed by the other. It, in fact, happened in Dai Jian's time. He was killed in battle by Jun Liwei. It’s also where the Dai clan was defeated and lost power in China.”

 

“If I am indeed Dai Jian’s reincarnation, then that means I would meet a fated enemy that either I would kill, or would kill me?”

 

His father nods. “That was what your mother wanted to avoid. If you trained to be a samurai and become among the best, you are assured to live a long life. Just like your grandfather. But this fate of yours tells of the possibility of an early death.”

 

“Why tell me this now?”

 

“Because we have traced the descendants of the Jun, and we found out that the Fujiwara clan is among them.”

 

“Fujiwara?” Shintarou almost laughs. It actually makes sense if he thinks about it. The Fujiwaras have hated him for his whole life. If it is indeed related to a pre-ordained enmity, then Shintarou is ready to draw his blade. “Do we know who specifically?”

 

“Dai Jian failed to describe Jun Liwei, so, no. But, at least, you know of this. Be extra vigilant with the Fujiwaras. There will be movement soon, and we are sure to clash with them.”

 

“I never was in a good terms with them anyway even when I was part of the Imperial Family. Now I understand. It’s been written in the stars long before I was born.” He unsheaths his sword and lets it catch the light of the moon. “There is no need to worry, father. I’ve been long since ready to take down the Fujiwaras. My resolve is strong. I will win in this lifetime.”

 

-

 

“The time has come.”

 

A huge battalion of samurais is rallied before Shintarou, some on horses, some on foot. They have travelled to the capital, wreaking havoc to those who stood on their way. Not long since his conversation with his father, the situation worsened exponentially. Uprisings are born and lands are fought over. The capital has never intervened, turning a blind eye to the growing problems in the provinces. 

 

“The capital has forgotten us — those who they think are weak!” Shintarou’s voice is loud, strong, a voice of a general ready to lead an army to war, “In their selfishness, they have let this great nation suffer! We shall not allow this anymore. Today, we take the Imperial House.” He raises his sword up in the air. “Today, we take down the Fujiwaras!”

 

Everyone cheered with him, raising their swords as well. It is a mighty sight and Shintarou realizes they have a big chance to win. They’ve already surrounded the capital gates, and the smaller clans who can’t defeat them have joined them instead. The Midorima clan would soon take control.

 

But first, he needs to find Seijuurou.

 

-

 

_“Do you believe in fate?”_

 

_They were sitting across each other on the table, the Imperial Tutor hidden behind towers of books on his own. Seijuurou kept his voice in a whisper lest he might be heard._

 

_“Non-sense,” Shintarou whispered back, not appreciating that his time for studying is being disturbed._

 

_“Surely you have some thoughts about it,” Seijuurou pushed through with the topic once they were done with their lessons. They were both headed for the garden to enjoy the view of spring. They were only fourteen then, and it seemed like they had all the time in the world to dawdle about._

 

_“It’s not something that crosses my mind often. Humans can’t possibly fully comprehend the concept of fate. Why waste time thinking about it? Why are_ you _even thinking about it?”_

 

_“I just came to a realization.” Seijuurou smiled; it was almost sweet. “If my mother didn’t go north on that certain day she found you, you would have never been here. What if she was sleeping on the road and never saw you? You’d never be here either. It’s fate’s work, isnt it? You’re the only good thing in the Imperial Court, and quite frankly, I’m glad that you’re here.”_

 

_Shintarou almost tripped at the words he just heard._

 

_“It’s fate, isn’t it?” Seijuurou glanced at him, amused._

 

_He felt the tips of his ears burn._

 

_He started believing in fate._

 

_-_

 

Shintarou catches his breath at the sight of Seijuurou — bruised, battle-worn, his eyes holding something feral and predatory. He’s never seen Seiuurou like this. He never thought he could look so deadly yet beautiful. He wields two short blades, and when he turns, their eyes lock at each other.

 

In instinct, he raises his blade to his eyes.

 

“We really did meet again, Shintarou.” Seijuurou smiles coldly. “Though, I thought it would have been more endearing than this. And that you wouldn't look so disappointed.”

 

“What happened, Seijuurou? You wouldn’t have let this country be in shambles as it is right now.”

 

“You know what happened, Shintarou?” There is a weariness in his voice Shintarou has never heard of before. “I was left alone. You went back to your real family. Father died. I had no one. Only the Fujiwaras. And we both know they are not on my side.”

 

“If I’ve known the situation is that grave, I would have gone back.”

 

Seijuurou shakes his head. “You couldn’t have. You were being honed to be a great samurai of your clan. I’ve heard things about you. You were making everybody proud, and look where you stand now. I’m happy for you.”

 

“We can still fix things, Seijuurou.” He shifts his sword and extends his free hand out, reaching. “Help us bring down the Fujiwara. Help us restore this nation.”

 

“Don’t you understand, Shintarou? The things that happened, they’re not just the Fujiwaras. They are also _me_. If you want to bring them down, you have no choice but to bring me down with them.” Seijuurou drops his blades to the ground. The flames of the battle continues to rage around them, but it feels like they are the only people in the world at the moment. “Save this country, Shintarou. End me.”

 

“It doesn’t have to end this way.” He is supposed to kill a Fujiwara. Why would he need to kill the person he treasured most in his heart?

 

“Do you believe in fate?” Seijuurou steps forward, his movement smooth and graceful as if he is closing in a prey. His voice is a whisper the wind carries and sends shivers down Shintarou’s skin. “A cosmic thread that binds two people’s destinies together?”

 

“Like the red thread of fate?”

 

“No. Like the fate that bounds me to you, you to me.”

 

“What are you—?”

 

“I’m sure they have told you. About the Jun and Dai clans. How their greatest warriors were fated to kill the other. The Dais, defeated, retreated to this land and started anew. The Juns, having won, thrived and expanded until they reached this land only a few decades after the Dais.”

 

“A Fujiwara, Seijuurou. Not you. They descended from the Juns, I came from the Dais. I am bound to kill a Fujiwara—“

 

“I _am_ a Fujiwara.” The sudden realization hits Shintarou and his blood runs cold. How could he forget? Seijuurou has their blood, too. He descended from the blood of his destined enemy. Seijuurou is _the one._ “We are fated, you and I, but not in a way that would bring us eternal happiness.”

 

“Seijuurou—“

 

“The people will never be appeased if I remain alive when a new government is established. Your people will retract from you knowing that you had me at the mercy of your sword but you chose not to end me right here at this moment. Another clan will take over, one that doesn't have the good of the nation in their heart.” He takes another step and the tip of his blade touches the skin of his neck. Shintarou tries to drop the sword, but Seijuurou holds it, keeping it in place, blood gushing out from his hand. “Could you take it to sacrifice a whole country for one life?”

 

“Don’t make me do this.”

 

“I will not blame you.” Seijuurou smiles once more. 

 

His duty comes before his heart; this, Shintarou fully understands. He never thought the day would come that he will actually be faced to choose between the two. And yet, he already knows what he must choose.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I know.”

 

Shintarou drives the blade deep down Seijuurou’s chest. Seijuurou grunts in pain, but he accepts his death peacefully. He can see it in the red of his eyes — the gratitude, the relief. When he falls to the ground, Shintarou quickly catches him and holds him close.

 

“Shintarou, promise me that you won't let the throne change you as it has changed me,” Seijuurou’s voice comes out raspy, and when he coughs, blood stains his lips, “And in our next life, let’s try not to have to kill each other, shall we?”

 

“I promise,” he thumbs his cheek and pulls him close, planting a kiss on his forehead. “In the next life, I won’t leave you alone anymore.”

 

“You better remember that.” Seijuurou lets out a quiet laugh. He closes his eyes and exhales. “Don’t leave me now.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

Ashes will fall and blood will continue to flow, but Shintarou will remain on the ground clutching Seijuurou until he breathes his last. And when the battle has finally subsided and the Midorima clan successfully takes over the Imperial House, Shintarou will make sure Seijuurou’s body is buried properly. He will see it to himself that his soul starts its journey without delay so that in the next life, they will meet again without fail.

 

And maybe, in that life, they won’t have be slaves to their own fates anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 kissaki - tip of the sword


	3. epilogue

Joseon Dynasty, Tsushima Island, Korea: _1419_

 

His dreams are filled with memories he didn’t own, sceneries from dozens of past lives or so. There is always blood, pain — and death. Sometimes he thinks they are nightmares, eating up his mind from its darkest recesses. But then, there is also another person that keeps on appearing in his dreams, and throughout the different lives, that person appeared the same, just as he himself retained his appearance throughout the centuries. 

 

It’s very rare, they have told him, for a person to remember who they were before their present incarnation. He thinks of it as a gift, a second chance of some sort to fulfill a promise he had made with this person from his past life. After all, despite all the enmity their older past lives had with each other, last time’s circumstances brought them to love one another. His clutch tightens around the sword in his hand, a memorabilia from the past.

 

“General,” his lieutenant enters, bringing him back from his thoughts. “We’ve finished them.”

 

“Where are they?”

 

“We’ve left the dead bodies at Nukadake. They weren’t ready for us.” His lieutenant huffs proudly. “A hundred and fifty soldiers. Yi Jong-mu would be very displeased. That’ll show that this island is for the Japanese, not those damned invaders.”

 

“That _was_ the point of the ambush.”

 

The lieutenant clears his throat. “There is another thing.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“We kept one of them alive.”

 

He cranes his neck to the side. His army is never this merciful “Why?”

 

“I believe you’ve been looking for this person for quite some time. The one in your dreams.”

 

He is out of his seat in a flash and he runs towards the room where they keep prisoners. He’s almost at the door when he stops, his subordinate having ample time to catch up to him.

 

“General.”

 

He lets out a quiet laugh then, glancing at the sword on his hand. “Still enemies, he and I, even in this lifetime.”

 

“Even if you remember him, there is very little chance he remembers you. In fact, I don’t think he will recognize you at all.”

 

“I know that.” He holds the door, willing his heart to calm down. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that he has been ready for this reunion in years. It’s _his_ reaction that he is still not ready for. “Then I will make him remember.”

 

“And if he still doesn’t?”

 

“I’ll give him new memories he can use.”

 

He opens the door and sees _him_ sitting on a cot, his wrists and ankles bound by ropes. At the sound of the door opening, their prisoner turns, his eyes holding the intent to kill. The green of those pupils are even more vivid in his waking consciousness, and he has no doubt: this prisoner is the person he is seeking, the one he’s been tied to in his many lifetimes.

 

_And in our next life, let’s try not to have to kill each other, shall we?_

 

He smiles at his prisoner. It will not be easy getting on his side right after killing over a hundred of his comrades, but he will endure, holding on to the promise that they exchanged in their last life together. It took him years to find him again, what is it to wait for a little bit longer?

 

“Let’s have a little chat, shall we, since you’re here and all.” Fate brought them together for one of them to kill the other.

 

“What do you want from me? Why keep me alive?”

 

This time, he’ll make sure it will not have to happen again. Ever.

 

“Do you believe in fate?”

**Author's Note:**

> I actually know little of Japanese history. Only sources of information is the History of Japan video and some other things I googled while writing haha (:3


End file.
